


Conclusive Etymology of a Summers

by clytemnestras



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-19
Updated: 2015-11-19
Packaged: 2018-05-02 10:28:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5244902
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clytemnestras/pseuds/clytemnestras
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Buffy, words, and the rest of the universe</p>
            </blockquote>





	Conclusive Etymology of a Summers

**Author's Note:**

> originally posted 22/5/14

Joyce never told her what her first words were, because it never felt important. Once she could string more than two together there was no lack of breath for the babble that came pouring out. She forced Hank to get the camera out to film her reciting poems whilst wearing her pants over her tights because that's how heroes dress and because things have to be remembered like fairytales to be told.  
  
**  
  
She started making up words. The ones she had were never big enough for the feelings swirling around in her head. Her teachers told her she couldn't use words in her stories that weren't in the dictionary, so she scribbled  _"gihugic"_  into the book with a pen so the ink would make it stay.  
  
**  
  
She discovered that some words got her in trouble, even if she couldn't understand  _why_. They were the _truth._  
  
And yet...  
  
In the ward, where the doctors wanted to know every thought, she learned how to be silent.  
  
**  
  
She re-learnt lots of words, until they ran seamlessly and thoughtlessly through her blood.  
  
 _Slayer.  
  
Fighter.  
  
Chosen.  
  
Champion._  
  
She learnt they were synonymous of two things: _pain_  and  _fear_.  
  
**  
  
She learnt to think fast and she learnt to lie.  
  
But her favourite lesson was the sarcasm. She laughed in the face of horror and death, with a smile and a snappy retort.  
  
Nothing meant so much as famous last words.  
  
 _At least I'm still pretty._  
  
**  
  
She liked them fast, snappy and deadly.  
  
Poems.  
  
Haikus.  
  
Because a hero never minces words, or forgets to feel their influence.  
  
 _Her bones gave her strength,  
  
but the soul which she carried  
  
gave her the power._  
  
The gift of the poetry book allowed her heart to swell. Words could bequeath love, as ragged as it may be.  
  
**  
  
She loved to watch her sister write. As Dawn scribbled and scrawled her soul down into books, she knew that the monks had given her a gift; the words she had cradled inside of her, even those she had learned to silence had been given new life.  
  
The things she could never speak were given breath.  
  
When she found Dawn's journal's burning, her heart gave pause.  
  
**  
  
She picked the words to mark her mother's gravestone with special care, but could never say them out loud.  
  
She couldn’t even remember the last words they exchanged.  
  
 _I love you Mommy.  
  
Wake up._  
  
**  
  
When she crawled through the dirt she read the words on her epitaph.  
  
They were right, and yet they burned.  
  
Fighting the urge to sink back down into the grave that cradled her, she only had one plea;  
  
 _Rest._  
  
**  
  
Songs filled the shadows of her empty chest and gave her safety to let secrets spill.  
  
Moreso than any sword she could wield, they were deadly.  
  
**  
  
She could lead armies into battle with the strength of a turn of phrase, like the pied piper lead the children away.  
  
And they were children, like her sister, like herself that she lead to war.  
  
Her deadliest weapon could only rest when she sobbed soundlessly into pillows.  
  
**  
  
At the end of the battle, in the midst of the family she chose, all words could be summed up in the smile she gave to the sunlight.  
  
 _Hope..._  
  
Life.


End file.
